Once he had reached Pont Neuf, he repented, but it was too late.
Too bad, she would just have to wait for him.
4.
Where Maigret finds that all interrogations are not the same, and where Eugénie’s opinions do not prevent him reaching a categorical conclusion
The police station was situated on the ground floor of the town hall, an ugly square building that stood in the middle of a road junction, surrounded by some scrubby trees and with a dirty flag hanging from the upper storey. Maigret could have gone directly to the inspectors’ offices from the front door; instead, to avoid bumping into Guillaume Serre, he made a detour through some draughty corridors and quickly got lost.
Here too there was a feeling of summer relaxation. Doors and windows were wide open, papers fluttered on desks in deserted offices while officers stood around elsewhere in shirt-sleeves, swapping stories about the beach, and the occasional visitor wandered round at a loss, in search of a stamp or a signature for a form.
Finally, Maigret came across a police officer who recognized him.
‘Inspector Vanneau?’
‘Second corridor on the left, third door down.’
‘Could you fetch him for me? He will have someone in his office with him. Don’t mention my name out loud.’
Vanneau joined him a few moments later.
‘Is he here?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did it go?’
‘Just so-so. I made sure to arm myself with a police summons. I rang his bell. A maid opened the door, and I asked to see her employer. I had to wait a few minutes in the hallway. Then he came downstairs, and I handed him the paper. He read it and looked at me without a word.
‘“If you would care to accompany me, I have a car outside.”
‘He shrugged his shoulders and took a panama hat from the coat stand, put it on his head and followed me.
‘He’s now sitting in my office. Hasn’t unclenched his teeth yet.’
A few moments later, Maigret entered Vanneau’s office, where he found Serre smoking a very black cigar. Maigret went and sat in Vanneau’s chair.
‘I am very sorry for having disturbed you, Monsieur Serre, but I would like you to answer a few questions.’
As on the previous day, the enormous dentist gave him a lugubrious look, and there wasn’t a trace of warmth in those dark eyes. Maigret suddenly remembered what he reminded him of: one of those Turks you used to see in pictures. The girth, the obvious weight, the physical force too, no doubt. For, despite his fatness, he gave the impression of being very strong. He also displayed the haughty calm of those pashas that adorn cigarette packets.
Instead of giving a sign of assent, or making some conventional polite remark, or even protesting, Serre took a yellowish piece of paper from his pocket and glanced at it.
‘I have been summoned by the chief inspector of Neuilly,’ he said. ‘I am waiting to hear what said person requires of me.’
‘By that do I take it that you refuse to answer any of my questions?’
‘Absolutely.’
Maigret hesitated. He had seen all sorts in his time: the tough ones, the stubborn ones, the obstinate ones, the sly ones, but none of them had ever responded to him with such total composure.
‘I suppose there’s no point in insisting?’
‘In my opinion, no.’
‘Or to suggest that your lack of cooperation does you no favours?’
This time the man merely sighed.
‘Very well. Wait here. The chief inspector will see you.’
Maigret went to find him. The latter didn’t understand what was being asked of him at first, then only agreed to it with bad grace. His office was more comfortable and luxurious than the rest of the building; he had a marble clock on his mantelpiece.
‘Send Monsieur Serre in,’ he told the orderly.
He showed him to a red velvet chair.
‘Sit down, please, Monsieur Serre. This is simply to verify a few facts, and I won’t take up too much of your time.’
The chief inspector consulted a piece of paper that had just been handed to him.
‘Are you the owner of a car with the registration number RS 8822L?’
The dentist nodded. Maigret had gone to sit on the window-sill and watched him, deep in thought.
‘Is this car still in your possession?’
Another nod.
‘When did you last use it?’
‘I presume I have a right to know the purpose of these questions?’
The inspector wriggled on his seat. He wasn’t at all pleased with the task that Maigret had handed him.
‘Suppose that your car was involved in an accident.’
‘Was it?’
‘Suppose that a car with this number has been reported as having knocked someone down.’
‘When?’
The inspector cast a reproachful look at Maigret.
‘Tuesday evening.’
‘Where?’
‘Near the Seine.’
‘My car never left its garage on Tuesday evening.’
‘Someone could have used it without your knowledge.’
‘I don’t think so. The garage is locked.’
‘So you confirm that you didn’t use your car on Tuesday evening or later that night?’
‘Who witnessed the accident?’
The inspector cast another helpless look in the direction of Maigret, who, realizing that this was going nowhere, signalled to him not to persist.
‘I have no more questions to ask, Monsieur Serre. Thank you for your time.’
The dentist got up, seeming for a moment to fill the whole office with his bulk, put on his hat and left, giving Maigret a look as he went.
‘I did everything I could. As you saw.’
‘I saw.’
‘Did you derive anything useful from it?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘He’s trouble, that one. He knows his rights.’
‘I know.’
It was as if Maigret were inadvertently aping the dentist. He had that same heavy, sombre manner. He headed for the door in turn.
‘What’s he supposed to have done, Maigret?’
‘I don’t know yet. It’s possible he killed his wife.’
He went to thank Vanneau then headed outside, where his police car awaited. Before getting back in the car, he had a drink at the bar on the corner. He viewed his reflection in the mirror behind the bar and wondered what he would look like in a panama hat. Then he had a smile to himself at the thought that what was about to take place was a fight between heavyweights.
He told the driver:
‘Take Rue de la Ferme.’
Not far from number 43a he spotted Serre walking along the pavement in long, slightly loose strides. Like many large men, he spread his legs wide. He was still smoking his long cigar. As he passed the garage he couldn’t have failed to notice the police officer on watch there, who had nowhere to hide.
Maigret decided against stopping the car outside the house with the black gate. What would be the point? They probably wouldn’t allow him to come in.
Ernestine was waiting in the glass-sided waiting room at Quai des Orfèvres. He showed her into his office.
‘Any news?’ she asked.
‘Not a thing.’
He was in a bad mood. She wasn’t to know that he was quite used to being in a bad mood at the beginning of a tricky investigation.
‘I received a postcard this morning. I’ve brought it with me.’
She showed him a postcard in colour of the town hall in Le Havre. There was nothing written on it, no signature, nothing but the poste restante address of La Grande Perche.
‘Alfred?’
‘It’s his writing.’
‘So he didn’t go to Belgium?’
‘Looks that way. He must have been wary of the border.’
‘Do you think he might be looking for a ship?’
‘I don’t think so. He’s
never set foot on a boat. I want to ask you a question, Monsieur Maigret, but you must give me an honest answer. Supposing he came back to Paris, what would happen to him?’
‘You want to know whether he will be arrested?’
‘Yes.’
‘For the attempted burglary?’
‘Yes.’
‘We couldn’t arrest him, because he was not caught in the act, and besides Guillaume Serre hasn’t filed a complaint and even denies that he was broken into at all.’
‘So he’ll be left in peace?’
‘As long as he hasn’t lied, and something else didn’t happen.’
‘Can I make him a promise?’
‘Yes.’
‘In that case I’ll insert a small ad in the paper. He reads the same newspaper every day, for the crosswords.’
She observed him for a moment.
‘You don’t seem too sure.’
‘About what?’
‘About the case. About yourself. I can’t put my finger on it. Did you see the dentist again?’
‘Half an hour ago.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing.’
She didn’t press the point, and when the telephone rang she took her cue to leave.
‘What is it?’ Maigret growled into the receiver.
‘It’s me, chief. Can I come round to your office?’
A few seconds later Janvier entered the room, animated, looking very pleased with himself.
‘I’ve got stacks of leads. Want to hear them now? Do you have a moment?’
His enthusiasm was somewhat dampened by Maigret, who had taken off his jacket and was now loosening his tie to free his thick neck.
‘I went to that family boarding house you mentioned first of all. It’s a bit like some of those hotels on the Left Bank, with palm trees in the lobby and old women sitting in rattan chairs. Hardly any of the guests were under fifty. Mainly foreigners – English, Swiss and American women who visit museums and write never-ending letters.’
‘Well?’
Maigret knew the type of place. No need for more information.
‘Maria Van Aerts lived there for a year. They remember her – she was quite a popular guest. They said she was a happy soul who was always laughing, and her enormous bosom wobbled every time she chuckled. She used to stuff herself with cakes and went to all the lectures at La Sorbonne.’
‘Is that all?’ said Maigret, in a voice that made clear that he didn’t see what all the excitement was about.
‘Every day she wrote eight- to ten-page letters.’
Maigret shrugged his shoulders, then looked at Janvier with new interest. He understood.
‘Always to the same person, a friend from the boarding house who now lives in Amsterdam. I have the name. This friend came to see her once. They shared the same room for three weeks. I presume Maria Serre continued to write to her after she was married. The friend’s name is Gertrude Oosting. She is the wife of a brewer. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find her address.’
‘Ring Amsterdam.’
‘Would you like the letters?’
‘The recent ones, if possible.’
‘That’s what I thought. Brussels still have no news on Sad Freddie.’
‘He’s in Le Havre.’
‘Should I telephone Le Havre?’
‘I’ll do it myself. Who’s free next door?’
‘Torrence returned to the office this morning.’
‘Send him in.’
Another heavyweight, who would hardly pass unnoticed on the pavement of an empty street.
‘Go and set yourself up in Rue de la Ferme in Neuilly, opposite 43a, a house with a small garden and a black gate at the front. No need to hide. Quite the opposite. If you see a guy who is taller and wider than you, follow him and make sure he sees you.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Find someone to relieve you for part of the night. There’s a Neuilly officer on watch further down the street, opposite the garage.’
‘What if the guy drives off?’
‘Take a car from downstairs and leave it parked next to the pavement.’
He couldn’t face going home for lunch. It was hotter than the day before. There was a storm brewing. Most men were carrying their jackets over their arms, and there were children swimming in the Seine.
He went and had a bite to eat in the Brasserie Dauphine, once he had drunk, by way of a challenge, two Pernods. Then he walked up to Criminal Records in the overheated top storey of the Palais de Justice to speak to Moers.
‘Let’s say about eleven this evening. Take whatever equipment you need. Take someone with you.’
‘Yes, chief.’
He had alerted the police in Le Havre. Did Sad Freddie take a train from Gare du Nord after all – to Lille, say – or did he, for example, head across to Gare Saint-Lazare after his phone call to Ernestine?
He was probably holed up in some cheap rented room or else was wandering from bar to bar drinking bottles of Vichy water, assuming he wasn’t trying to stow away on some ship. Was it just as hot in Le Havre as here in Paris?
They still hadn’t tracked down the taxi that was supposed to have taken Maria Serre and her luggage. The staff at Gare du Nord didn’t remember seeing her. Opening his newspaper around three o’clock, Maigret saw Ernestine’s small ad:
For Alfred. Return Paris. No danger. All sorted. Tine.
It was four thirty when he found himself in his chair, the newspaper on his lap. He hadn’t turned the page. He had fallen asleep; his mouth was sticky, his back was stiff.
There weren’t any police cars available, so he had to take a taxi at the end of the street.
‘Rue de la Ferme, Neuilly. I’ll tell you where to stop.’
He almost dozed off again. It was five to five when he stopped the taxi in front of the bar that was already so familiar to him. There was no one out on the terrace. He could see the broad silhouette of Torrence walking up and down in the shade further along the street. He paid the driver and sat himself down with a satisfied sigh.
‘What can I get you, Monsieur Maigret?’
A beer, of course! He was so thirsty he could drink five or six glasses in one go.
‘Has he come back?’
‘The dentist? No. I saw his mother, this morning, walking down towards Boulevard Richard-Wallace.’
The gate creaked. A small, nervous-looking woman started walking down the opposite pavement. Maigret paid for his drink and caught up with her when she reached the edge of the Bois de Boulogne.
‘Madame Eugénie?’
‘What do you want?’
It seemed charm was in short supply at the Serre residence.
‘I’d like a little chat with you.’
‘I don’t have time for a chat. I have to do my own housework when I get home.’
‘I’m from the police.’
‘Makes no difference.’
‘I need to ask you some questions.’
‘Do I have to reply?’
‘It would be better if you did.’
‘I don’t like the police.’
‘That’s your prerogative. Do you like your employers?’
‘They’re scum.’
‘Old Madame Serre too?’
‘She’s a bitch.’
They reached the bus stop. Maigret hailed a passing taxi.
‘I’ll give you a lift home.’
‘I don’t much care to be seen with a cop, but a lift’s not to be sniffed at, I suppose.’
She climbed into the taxi in stately fashion.
‘What have you got against them?’
‘What about you? Why are you sticking your nose into their business?’
‘Has young Madame Serre gone away?’
‘Young?’ she said sarcastically.
‘Let’s call her the daughter-in-law.’
‘Yes, she’s gone. Good riddance.’
‘Was she a bitch too?’
‘No.’
> ‘You didn’t like her?’
‘She was always ferreting about in the larder. Come dinner time, I’d find half of what I’d prepared had gone.’
‘When did she leave?’
‘Tuesday.’
They were crossing Pont de Puteaux. Eugénie tapped on the window.
‘It’s here,’ she said. ‘Do you need me any more?’
‘Can I come in for a moment?’
They were on a crowded square. The cleaning lady made for a doorway to the right of a shop, went in and headed up a stairway that smelled of dishwater.
‘I just wish you could tell them to leave my son in peace.’
‘Tell who?’
‘The other cops. The local ones. They’re always on his back.’
‘What’s he done?’
‘He works.’
‘Doing what?’
‘How would I know? If the place is a mess, that’s too bad. I can’t clean all day for them and keep my own place clean as well.’
She opened the window, because it was stuffy in there, but the room was perfectly tidy, apart from a bed in the corner; it was the sort of living-cum-dining room that even had a certain charm.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked as she removed her hat.
‘Maria Serre is missing.’
‘Of course, she’s in Holland.’
‘They can’t find her in Holland either.’
‘Why do they need to find her?’
‘Because there is reason to believe that she has been murdered.’
There was a small sparkle in Eugénie’s dark-brown eyes.
‘Why don’t you arrest them?’
‘We don’t have any proof yet.’
‘And you’re hoping I can provide you with some?’
She put some water to boil on the gas stove then returned to Maigret.
‘What happened on Tuesday?’
‘She spent all day packing her bags.’
‘Just a moment. She has been married for two years, is that right? I’d imagine that she owned a certain number of personal effects.’
‘She had at least thirty dresses and as many pairs of shoes.’
Maigret and the Tall Woman Page 6